And the Bedtime Stories
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: They're just stories. Children's books that've survived for decades. But they're more than just stories to the three Librarians that are finding a slow path to happiness through their pages. (OT3 fic)


He finds Cassandra by accident. He's trying to remember the way to the Historical Architecture section when he passes a reading nook. Or it's designed like a reading nook, but there's a door that shuts and everything, but it's not really big enough to be a reading _room_ , and reading walk-in closet sounds weird. Whatever.

She's lying on the sofa in the reading nook, and he knows immediately that she's having one of her Headaches. It gets a capital letter because it's not just a normal headache that can go away with some Advil; this is a full-on, skull-pounding migraine that makes her synesthesia go completely bonkers and cause her almost as much pain as the headache itself. He forgets about what he'd been doing and walks over, treading softly as he can until he's standing right beside the sofa. "Hey," he murmurs. "You need anythin'? Icepack?"

She makes a little noise in the negative, since moving her head at all is out of the question.

Jacob glances down and sees that she has a small paperback resting on her lap: _Charlotte's Web._ "You want me to read it to you?" he offers. He doesn't really understand how, but she's said that listening to him talk makes her feel better. Something about his accent being very purple.

She doesn't answer in words or nod her head, since that would probably hurt more, just grabs the book and holds it out to him with a little whimper that's meant to convey gratefulness. Jacob takes it from her, then gently moves her feet so he can sit on the end of the sofa; she drapes her legs over his lap. Once she's settled, he opens the book and starts reading. He's not read _Charlotte's Web_ in years, probably not since his single-digit years, and it surprises him how much he's missed it. After the first two chapters, Cassandra lowers her hands from her temples and opens her eyes again, no longer wincing every few heartbeats. He can feel the tension slowly seeping out of her, relaxing down into the sofa. She doesn't ask him to stop reading, though, so he doesn't.

He's not quite sure where Ezekiel comes from. The young man can be as light-footed as a cat if he wants to be, a thief's instinct to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible, and sometime he does it without realising that he's doing it at all. Jacob thinks he sees someone walk past the door, there's a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision, and between one page and the next, when he looks up, Ezekiel's slipped in to sit on the floor, leaning against the front of the sofa. He's not asking them to cover for whatever prank he's pulled now, he's not being hyperverbal, he's not doing much of anything, just sitting with his arms hooked around his knees, head back on the cushions. He's sitting where Cassandra can sift her fingertips through the back of his hair if she wants, too, because it soothes her, like petting a cat.

Jacob doesn't ask. Ezekiel is never quiet like this, not unless something has gone horribly wrong, and he doesn't want to break...whatever this is. This warm, peaceful bit of quiet where they don't have anything more pressing to do than read and listen to a children's book. It's different and new, but it's good.

His voice cuts off sharply when they hear Eve shouting for them, her voice echoing up the corridor. Ezekiel actually jumps a bit; Jacob doesn't recall ever seeing him startle before. Cassandra sighs softly, pulling her feet off Jacob's lap as she sits up without wincing or grabbing at her head. Jacob reluctantly slips a bookmark in the pages and sets it down on the table before getting up and following the sound of their Guardian's voice.

* * *

He makes his way back to the reading nook the next day, since he knows Cassandra's a creature of habit. Once she finds a good place to curl up, she tends not to leave it. He wonders if she's finished with _Charlotte's Web_ yet, and if she'd mind him borrowing it when she's done, assuming it's her copy, not one from the Library. When he walks in, just like he predicted, she's sitting on the sofa again, but she's not reading. She has the book in her lap and she's picking at a frayed corner of the cardstock cover. He must've made some kind of noise, because she lifts her head to look at him.

He starts to open his mouth, but Cassandra blurts, "You want me to read this time?" before he can get a word out. "I mean, the headache's gone, so..."

Jacob closes his mouth and nods. Being read to sounds...just fine to him, and it's better than what he had in mind anyways. He comes to sit on the sofa again, right where he'd sat yesterday, and stretches his legs out in front of him.

And again, Ezekiel appears, this time before Cassandra turns the page. They don't exactly see him come in, and he doesn't announce himself in any way. He just sort of...sidles in quietly. This time, though, he sits closer to Jacob.

Cassandra's voice is soothing, soft and steady; it makes him feel drowsy in that lazy sunlit way, like a cat luxuriating on a windowsill in a summer afternoon. Gradually, Jacob becomes aware of a slowly increasing weight against his leg and glances downwards. Ezekiel's leaning against his calf, and he's tilted his head sideways to rest his head against Jacob's knee. The historian almost moves his leg out of reflex...then changes his mind and relaxes back against the sofa.

* * *

The next day, Cassandra and Jacob find themselves heading towards the reading nook almost at the exact same time, and they share a small, brief smile. Jacob steps back to let her through the door first, then nearly runs into her back because she freezes not two steps into the little room. He glances over her shoulder and sees what's made her stop so abruptly. Ezekiel's already there, and he's sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa with _Charlotte's Web_ in his hands. The thief smiles at them and holds up the book. "My turn, innit?" he asks.

The only way Jacob might've been more surprised is if Morgan le Fay had walked in and done a fan dance with a lettuce leaf. And even that would be a pretty close call. Ezekiel's offering to _read._ From a _book._ A _non-magical_ book. Without being bribed, threatened, or tortured in any way. It takes him a moment to remember how to speak, and he nods. "Yeah, sure." He has to nudge Cassandra's back before she moves, curling up on her end of the sofa and looking down at Ezekiel with a softness in her eyes that hasn't always been there. Or maybe it has, and he's just not noticed it until now. He sits down on the other end of the sofa; when Ezekiel opens the book, Jacob nudges him with one knee. "Hey, man, you read, you get a spot up here with us," he remarks, and the look Cassandra throws him is full of that same softness.

The thief stares up at him for a brief second, then pushes himself up and moves back onto the sofa. It's not that big of a sofa, though, and the end result is that he's sandwiched very neatly between Cassandra and Jacob, their shoulders brushing with any slight movement. Ezekiel reads at a slower pace than either of them, and sometimes he stumbles over words, as if he's not used to reading aloud. When he does, though, Jacob will press his arm along the thief's, or Cassandra will lean her shoulder against his. It seems to work, because the words start coming easier. Ezekiel shifts in degrees so they barely notice it, angling himself so that he's more lying down than sitting up, and soon he's horizontal on the couch. His head and shoulders are pillowed against Cassandra's thighs, and his legs are draped across Jacob's lap.

Soon, Jacob notices that Cassandra's losing the fight against sleep; when her head droops and her eyes stay shut, he pats Ezekiel's knees to quiet him. She'd hate it if they finished the book without her. Ezekiel tucks the bookmark into the pages and stretches one arm over his head to set the book on the side table, then heaves a deep sigh. "You two make a pretty comfy bed," he remarks quietly, eyes closed. "Almost don't wanna move."

"Then don't," Jacob replies as he digs the throw pillow out from behind his back and tucks it behind his head; he can feel Ezekiel's eyes boring into him as he makes himself comfortable, closing his eyes. He's slept in worse places, and this sofa is pretty damned comfortable.

Ezekiel must agree with him, too, because he doesn't move.

* * *

They don't finish _Charlotte's Web_ for another week because they either get a warning from the Book or one of them ends up falling asleep. When they do, they sit in silence for a moment, unsure of what to do next but not wanting to be the first to break the stillness. Jacob doesn't want to move. He likes it in here. He likes this little snatch of peace and quiet they have, but he's not sure how to keep it, or how to ask them to stay.

Whilst trying to sort out the words in his head, he notices that Ezekiel's kind of squirming in place and continuously glancing down at his hands, which are tightly gripped around something small, mostly hidden in his lap. "What is that?" he asks.

Ezekiel opens his mouth, closes it again, then uncurls his hands, holding the small something out to Jacob. It's a small hardcover book with a frayed dust jacket, with a faded picture of pirates on the front. _Treasure Island._ Jacob glances over at Cassandra, and she positively beams back at him, snuggling back into the sofa. He sits back as well, slipping the dust jacket off and setting it aside before he opens the cover and starts to read.

And just like that, Ezekiel's solved the problem without saying a word.

When the thief leans against his side to peer at the illustrations, Jacob pulls his arm free and drapes it over the back of the sofa, lying just above Ezekiel's shoulders.

* * *

The sofa's not really a sofa anymore.

Jacob hasn't noticed it because the changes have been so small up to this point. Growing a half-inch or so at a time, it's spread out and widened. The cushions have sort of fused together, more like a mattress, and the little throw pillows have become actual pillows, bed-type pillows. The afghan's a full-sized quilt now, too. It all happens in degrees. One day there's not really enough fabric to cover all of their laps if it's cold. About ten days later, they don't have to play tug-of-war anymore. Another week and a half, and there's fabric enough to tuck them all in comfortably. The room's gotten bigger too, so it's actually a room and not the overlarge closet it seemed like before.

The realisation doesn't really sink in for him, either, not at first. Not until he's stretching his legs out and he notices that his feet don't hang over the edge anymore. And when Cassandra unfolds the quilt, it's big enough to hang over the sides. Their sofa's become a bed. Once upon a time, that might've freaked him out because he's sharing a bed with two people, one of whom is a man, but he doesn't really care anymore. Why should he? He's warm and comfortable, and it's Ezekiel's turn to read tonight, so he's not going to kick the thief out or anything. Usually, it would be Jacob's turn, but he has a concussion from being thrown against a brick wall, and he keeps seeing two of things. Trying to read words on a page would probably kill him at this point. Cassandra leans over and lays a towel-wrapped icepack against the base of his skull, wedging it between his neck and the pillow so it doesn't slide away, and he sighs thankfully.

"You good over there, cowboy?" Ezekiel asks as he opens _Treasure Island_ to the bookmarked page; they're almost at the end. The thief's not dressed in his usual designer-casual wear, he's wearing sweats that have definitely seen better days and a grey shirt that's too big for him, hanging loose around his shoulders and covering his hands. After a moment of study, Jacob realises that it's _his_ shirt. So that's where his other Henley went.

"M'good. Go 'head," Jacob replies quietly, putting thoughts of pilfered shirts out of his mind for the moment. Cassandra curls up against him and gently scratches her nails against his scalp, making little circles that feel like complete bliss.

As Ezekiel reads in his careful, measured way, Jacob decides that it's his turn to pick a story once they've finished.

He wonders what section he would find a copy of _The Jungle Book_ in. He'll have to check the card catalogue tomorrow.

* * *

It's been three months since _Charlotte's Web,_ and he sleeps in the Library five days out of the week. He's giving real thought to just selling his flat. There's a hundred acres of Library, surely there's room for three little people to live in here and still have room to breathe. Jenkins lives here anyways. The Library feels like home to him as it is, why not make it official?

Their reading nook is now their bedroom. The shelves on the wall hold all the classics, growing one book at a time as they're finished. Jenkins and Eve had yet to say anything to them about this, and Jacob is grateful for that, since he's not even sure he has words to explain it all. Flynn almost does one time, when he catches them getting the bed ready, already showered and changed into their pyjamas, but before he gets the chance to open his mouth, Eve yanks his ascot tight and tows him away like a nosy puppy on a leash.

He's not sure what to call this thing he has with Ezekiel and Cassandra. They haven't had sex or seen each other naked or even kissed; it's not out of the question, though. They sleep in the same bed and read each other bedtime stories and hold each other through nightmares. He's not in any rush to put a name to it. It's warm and safe and it feels like home, so why should he have to say anything about it other than it works? It works, so he's not going to fix it.

Labels are overrated anyways.


End file.
